


Spitted for Sarada

by EvilFuzzy9



Category: Naruto
Genre: Cannibalism, Consensual Kink, Dark-ish, Dolcett - Freeform, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Don't Try This At Home, F/F, F/M, Generic Disclaimer, Guro, Human Livestock, Implied/Referenced Incest, Kinda, Lactation, M/M, Male Victim, Married Couple, Moral Bankruptcy, Other, Pegging, Sibling Incest, Snuff, This Kind of Thing Should Be Kept Purely as Fantasy, Twisted, Vore, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:39:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4992397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilFuzzy9/pseuds/EvilFuzzy9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boruto Uzumaki will do anything for his wife. And he does mean ANYTHING.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spitted for Sarada

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of this was originally posted to Gurochan, but after I finished writing the rest of it I found that the site was being stubborn and refusing to load. After a couple days of that annoyance, I've decided to post what I have of this fic here. 
> 
> Because I am liable to go bonkers otherwise.

Boruto Uzumaki gulped as he watched his wife adjust the spit over the fire, hot coals burning red within a wide, stone-rimmed pit. He shivered as the evening autumn air brushed over his naked skin, rustling the trimmed and denuded branches overhead. His manhood stood at attention, his eyes glued to his wife's slender form.

The forest clearing was quiet save for the muffled footfall of Sarada's bare soles on the naked soil, and the soft crackling of the fire as its coals burned low but hot. Sensual movements carried the Lady Hokage around the fire as silently as the night and gracefully as a phantom, gliding over the earth like a vision of pagan loveliness. Sarada swayed her hips with every step as she circled the ring of stones, and Boruto was fascinated by the glow of her pale rear in the reddish-orange light.

She caught his eyes with a gleaming sharingan, the fiery glow of her stare, and her lips quirked in a sultry, seductive smile. A shiver ran down his spine, his manhood pulsing and throbbing as her gaze playfully wandered down his nude, oiled form.

"It won't be long, baby," she told him with that damnable smile, the smooth and confident grin that never failed to melt him like snow in August. "It's almost ready."

A part of Boruto wished he could feel dread at this pronouncement, spoken so plainly yet seductively. He wished he could feel afraid or defiant. There was no mistaking her meaning, or her intentions in doing all of this. Only an utterly incurable fool could fail to see something that obvious.

The rope chafed his ankles and wrists, but the knots themselves were hardly enough to tether a jounin. Sarada was more than smart enough to know this; she was also smart enough to know that Boruto would not try to escape, regardless. She knew he would stay, as much in deference to her strength as in reverence of her beauty.

He looked into her eyes, and she met his gaze with a quiet confidence. Her glasses were the only thing she was wearing as she angled the spit and stirred the coals. Fiery sparks danced through the air, kicked up and set to swirl around her nude form as a slight breeze shifted in the clearing.

The resulting sight was breathtaking; Sarada could have been Queen of the Fey and looked no more lovely or otherworldly.

Softly, Boruto smiled.

"I can hardly wait," he told her with all sincerity. His manhood twitched and its tip gleamed with precum. Beads of sweat dripped down his naked body as he stood there and watched her work.

He looked at the browned, naked form of their former teammate, who dripped savory juices from his body. Severed limbs dangled on meathooks suspended from a stout branch, and a soft-featured face was frozen into an expression of slow, hopeless agony. His skin was glossy, with wisps of steam still rising from perfectly cooked flesh.

Boruto took note of the profile view Sarada had given him of Mitsuki, the spit on which the other man had been cooked planted firmly in the earth. A small, secret part of him was thrilled as he assessed the curve of his friend's buttocks, and drank in the sight of his phallus standing up in a permanent erection.

Perversely, he recalled how Sarada had achieved that, stabbing a long toothpick up Mitsuki's glans meatus after coaxing the medic's shaft to full height and hardness with her tongue and lips. He remembered the abashed but delighted expression on Mitsuki's face as Sarada had yanked down his trousers and taken his manhood into her mouth.

A twitching cock ached at the sight, the memory, and Boruto groaned a tiny bit.

Tugging his gaze reluctantly from Mitsuki, he looked next at his mother and father, whom Sarada had also already cooked. Two roasted forms were sewn together in an artful recreation of coitus, his mother's mammaries mashed against his father's chest as the man's phallus stuffed her pussy. They were hung up like Mitsuki's limbs, and Boruto took another moment to note that Sarada had thought to position them with his mother's back to him.

How thoughtful of her.

Boruto licked his lips and eyed his mother's ass, feeling years of repressed fantasies bubble up at the sight of her bare, voluminous posterior jutting out at him like a silent invitation. Vast buttocks looked firm, yet still certainly juicy, and Boruto felt a moment of envy toward his wife, knowing that he would more than likely not get to taste that mouthwatering rump. His cock throbbed angrily, and his stomach growled as the scent of their cooked flesh filled his nostrils.

Sarada turned to look at Boruto, a wry smirk adorning those ruby red lips. His heart fluttered as she looked askance at where his eyes had been trained, cocking her head and giving him a sly, knowing look.

"You pervert," she teased with twinkling eyes. "Aren't I good enough for you?"

She crossed her arms playfully under her chest, pushing up a pair of modest, perky breasts. She cocked her hips to one side, and he trailed his eyes over her naked body. He looked down from the stiff protuberance of peaking nipples to glossy, flush labia. A swollen clit was peeking out at him from his wife's sex, and he felt himself clench and shiver.

"I could ask the same thing," he replied, smiling wanly. "You seemed to really enjoy sucking Mitsuki and my dad's dicks, honey."

Sarada's expression brightened, and she laughed.

"So I did," she conceded, swaying her hips and strolling up to him. "But only because _you_ were watching. It always makes me so wet to feel your eyes on me..."

She leaned forward and kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Their midsections pressed close together, and she groaned happily when Boruto's erection rubbed between her legs. She broke the kiss off and leaned back, although not separating their closely brushing loins, looking him in the eye and smirking.

"...besides, it feels like you got pretty hard watching me do all that."

"Yeah. Guilty as charged."

Boruto grinned. He felt his cock throb almost painfully, so close to his wife's hot, soaking cunt, and the animal part of his brain wanted nothing in that moment so much as to buck his hips and join with her for one last time.

But that wasn't his place anymore. He didn't have the right to choose to have intercourse with Sarada. For all intents and purposes, Boruto Uzumaki was already dead.

Right now, what stood there in Sarada's arms was little more than a hunk of uncooked beef.

Boruto looked over his shoulder, to where his sister stood. She was watching contentedly, smiling in the nude. Her ankles and wrists were also bound, and her ample breasts heaved and trembled in the firelight. Himawari smiled at him, playing out her own role with perfect silence.

Sarada followed his gaze, feeling his dick twitch a little more against her sex. She snorted, amused.

"Your sister, too? How incorrigible."

"She's a nice slab of meat," Boruto airily replied. "That's all. I'm just appreciating a prime cut."

"A prime _cunt_ , you mean."

Boruto laughed.

"Yeah, fair enough."

Himawari smiled a little bit, and she shivered, blushing. Sarada watched this, then looked back at her husband.

Or her choice stock, rather.

"She's a bit too fatty for my tastes," Sarada primly stated. "I like my meat leaner, gamier... you know, with more _muscle_."

A hand grabbed his ass and squeezed. Her lips quirked up at the edges, curling back to bare gleaming white teeth. Boruto smiled in response and flexed, tensing his buttocks underneath the beautiful cook's fingers. She displayed her appreciation with a heated leer, playfully circling a fingertip around his anus.

"She'll look nice on the spit, though."

"Yes, she will. But you'll look even nicer, won't you?"

Sarada's grin became decidedly feral, and she squeezed Boruto's cock in hand.

"I bet I will," Boruto said, shuddering as she curled her fingers around his manhood. "Because I'm sexy as hell, according to you."

"That's just my opinion," Sarada said, shrugging coyly. She stroked his phallus a little up and down. "And you're my husband, so it's not like I'm speaking for all women everywhere... although your sister definitely seems to agree, judging by the way she's been ogling your ass."

Himawari smiled. Pale blue eyes twinkled with amusement, and a full, voluptuous bosom heaved with slow and sultry breaths.

"It will be a loss for all of us when that booty of his is spitted and roasted," she said huskily, winking at Sarada. "But it _will_ be nice show, won't it? It's a shame I won't get to have a bite."

"Who says you won't?" said Sarada rhetorically. "There's no reason for me to cook all of my willing meat at once. Maybe I want to stick you in my larder and fatten you up on your family, first!"

Himawari laughed.

"You've already been breeding us like cattle, Hokage-sama," she said demurely. "And I've had babies with all of your studs, even father and brother."

"But you're still breedable, aren't you?" Sarada replied, smirking. "My husband's donated enough sperm to let me have as many children as I need. More than enough, really. He is entirely expendable."

Sarada licked her lips, looking into Boruto's eyes as she said this, and smacked his ass with one hand. With the other hand, she cruelly, lovingly teased his cock.

She then looked back at Himawari.

"But _you?_ " she said. "Oh, no. A calving cow is worth significantly more than a rutting bull. That's why Hanabi-san and Moegi-san are still on the ranch. They've got a few more years of breeding left in them."

Himawari smiled.

"Why would you bring me out here if you weren't planning to cook me, then?" she asked sweetly. "I know you didn't want any of us here to suffer the indignity of an impersonal, mechanized snuffing and processing, since we're all very close. So what could your reasoning possibly be?"

"Maybe I just wanted to make you watch," Sarada smoothly replied, wagging an eyebrow. "You certainly seem to have enjoyed it thus far."

"I have," Himawari agreed. "And I can't wait to see my brother cooked."

Sarada smiled, and she grabbed Boruto by the hip. With a single hand, she effortlessly lifted him off of the ground. Her superhuman strength could topple mountains or create earthquakes with a single punch, so something like this was easy as pie.

Boruto smiled, and he looked down into his wife's eyes.

"Then let's not make her wait," he said huskily, feeling his cock throb in excitement. "Eh, honey? Grab that spit and roast this ass. My body is ready."

He gave his rear a shake, and Himawari tittered appreciatively.

Boruto felt his stomach flip and lurch with the anticipation as Sarada carried him over to the fire. He looked at the glowing coals, the embers wafting on every slightest breeze, the charring on the inside of the stone circle, and the spike-tipped pole he was soon to be spitted upon. His heartbeat was swift and erratic, and he felt his face burn from something other than mere proximity to the heat of the coals as Sarada shifted him in one hand while grabbing hold of the spit with another.

It was behind him before he knew it. He could no longer see the spit or the fire, facing the empty forest where shadows of firelight danced in the bush. Wavering light cast long fingers of darkness from thin boughs and branches, hundreds of gnarled claws that seemed to spread from ghastly, groping hands. A thrill shot through him, and he imagined the figures of countless people in the shadows watching Sarada work, waving their arms and cheering in the silence as she poised him above a thick, rigid shaft.

Boruto gulped, his heart pounding. His throat felt tight, his chest constricting, a ball of fear and excitement settling in his gut while Sarada inched him teasingly down, lowering him bottom first to the tip of the spit. His lips felt dry and his breathing hitched as he felt something hard and very warm bump up against his buttocks. A stout point dug into his rear for a moment, before Sarada shifted him over an inch.

It went up between his glutes. He felt it prod the rim of his anus.

He shuddered, and his cock throbbed fiercely.

The spit was about to penetrate him. It was going to stab right through and come out the other end, just like it had with Mitsuki and his parents.

Boruto shivered, remembering how his mother had gasped and squealed as Sarada drove her down on the spit, writhing and moaning as it pierced her juicy cunt and perforated her insides, shoving up until it came out her mouth. His manhood twitched, the image of the lewd face Hinata had made stuck in his mind, a mix of blood and drool trickling down her lips, her mouth hanging open and tongue lolling out.

He recalled her breasts, bouncing and quivering for several seconds after Sarada impaled her, glistening with a mixture of marinade and sweat as the Hokage adjusted the spit and began the slow, beautifully agonizing process of cooking the Lord Seventh's wife alive. And he remembered the look on his father's face, that smile as he'd watched his wife squirm on the unyielding rod, the fingers curling around his cock as he'd starting stroking himself to the sight.

Boruto groaned and felt his dick clench, dribbling out a bit more precum as Sarada started to push him down. He looked up at the stars in the sky, peering through gaps in the branches overhead.

His world shook with tremors of agony, shocks of excitement, and waves of shameful pleasure as the rod went in. Eyes went wide, and tears trickled down his cheeks.

"Ahh... ahhh!" he gasped. "S-Sarada, ohhh... that hurts... it hurts so much...!"

He didn't see her face as she yanked him down further on the fat, wooden spit, its roughly carved sides painfully grating the walls of his anus, but still he could imagine her smile – that damnable, gorgeous, sensual grin – when she spoke.

"But you like it, don't you?" she teased, jimmying the spit a bit inside his ass. Boruto hissed and arched his back, thrashing wildly in her grip. "I know that look on your face. You love it when I hurt you. That's why you were so eager to do this, wasn't it?"

Boruto blushed, and despite himself he nodded.

"I love it," he moaned. "I'm such a... ah, ahhh... _fuck_ , look at me. I'm a fucking... ffff... p-pervert...! Shit, yesss!"

Boruto shuddered and smiled blissfully, his face shamefully red. His wife smirked and groped his ass, squeezing a firm cheek and shifting her grip on his waist.

Sarada's strength was incalculable, but so was the care with which she applied it. She could rip through reinforced concrete like it was soggy bread, or squeeze an eggshell without cracking it even slightly. And she used that strength with ease, pushing Boruto further down on the spit. He gasped and moaned, twitching and struggling not to thrash as the pole drove through him, piercing his body mercilessly.

He felt it stab him through, and he wanted to scream as much from the pleasure as pain. It was the thought that he was now truly nothing more than a piece of meat, an uncooked slab of flesh about to be roasted for his wife and sister's pleasure. This impression filled him with a morbid glee, a masochistic contentment that fed on the pain and grew until it encompassed the entirety of his thought processes.

His body, his mind, a wealth of knowledge and life experience... everything he was as a person and shinobi, discarded like so much gristle as the spit shoved up between his lungs, into his throat, making him gag and cough and tilt his head back in an attempt to let the point exit via his mouth. His esophagus was burning, a red hot pain that seemed infinitely nearer and more comprehensible than the brutal penetration of his innards.

Boruto moaned. His eyes looked down, watching as the tip of the spit came into view, emerging from his gaping mouth. He could taste copper, his blood on the shaft, and his jaw cracked to accommodate its girth.

It hurt.

_It hurt so much._

It was absolutely excruciating, and he felt like he was dying... as he was indeed, however slowly. He choked on the spit, gagging, sniffing and wheezing as Sarada lowered the rod and leveled it out over the coals. Scalding air filled his nostrils; he was skewered above the fire, a twitching erection aching as it grew painfully warm.

Sarada tied his wrists and ankles together behind his back, fastening his limbs with twine. Boruto could feel her eyes on him, and his sister's eyes as well. It was an electric prickle, a tingling awareness that made him shiver and weakly shuffle on the spit.

A bolt of stabbing, blissful pain shot through his body. He would have screamed if he were able, but all that came out was a breathless whimper, and he felt a shameful glee at this. Completely helpless, left at the mercy of his wife, about to be roasted alive before his dear little sister...

Boruto smiled and peered from the corner of his eye. He could see Himawari with her hands bound behind her, her feet tied to a thick root, and her ample chest heaving in the firelight, glistening with tempting beads of sweat. She caught his eye with a smile and spread her legs as much as she was able.

 _'Look at me, brother,'_ she seemed to be saying.

And so he looked.

His eyes wandered down her abdomen, over a curvy waist with slight love handles and wide, child-bearing hips. Her belly was slightly rounded, remnants of baby fat from past pregnancies, one or two of which had even been his. Boruto smiled at the memory, absently trying to recall which of the sons and daughters he had sired.

A couple of the older girls were already starting to blossom the last time he saw them, collars around their necks and numbers branded into their rumps. He recalled them mewling and gulping down their daily gruel from the trough alongside their mother and younger siblings, a light downy fuzz of Uzumaki scarlet growing in around their privates, Himawari smiling as a pair of redfaced toddlers nursed at her generous teats.

Boruto weakly groaned at this recollection, feeling the world roll around him as Sarada turned the spit. His skin was painfully hot from proximity to the fire's heart, his cock throbbing and twitching with a glossy sheen. Sweat streaked in shimmering rivulets over his well-muscled form, skin sizzling enticingly.

He felt incredible.

"You look delicious already, Bolt," Sarada purred, winking suggestively. Bottomless sharingan eyes swallowed his focus as ravenously as she used to swallow his cock, drinking him in and transfixing him with a heated, smouldering gaze. She had a hand on her hip and a smirk on her face.

He wondered idly what sort of expression she would be wearing when she took the first bite out of his body. Would the taste of his flesh be up to her standards? Boruto certainly hoped so. It would be a right shame to cook for his wife only to come out tough or tasteless. There was only one chance to get this right.

Boruto moaned. The heat seared his arms, legs, and back as he continued to rotate. His ass was burning from more than just the spit stretching out his anus, and his eyes were level with Sarada's crotch. He stared intently, feeling a hint of passing regret.

Licking his lips, he mused that it was a shame he would no longer be able to eat his wife out, to make her moan his name in anything but hunger, or please her in any way besides filling her stomach with delicious meat. His mouth watered, and he smacked dry lips around the spit.

Sarada tasted better than any other cunt he'd ever sampled, and she damn well knew it judging by the way she smirked and teasingly ran a finger over her clit. She traced her labia, then spread them, giving Boruto a firelit view of moist inner folds, a soaking pussy that had always fit him like the best — fucking — glove — ever made.

His cock seared magnificently as it was exposed once more to the fire. He could feel sweat and marinade mingling together as they traveled _drip, drip, drip_ down his chest and abs. Acutely aware of the growing tightness in his own skin as moisture gradually escaped, wisps of steam ghostly and translucent tentatively rising from rosy flesh and pressing up around his chiseled physique like sensually groping fingers, he released a breathy groan and worked lightly aching jaws up and down around the girthsome shaft.

Boruto was in a shamefully sublime paradise of pain and degradation. Agony and ecstasy blended together as his flesh scorched over the flames, muscles losing strength and mobility as they were roasted inside his body. Tears welled up in his eyes – equal parts pain, joy, regret – as his form continued to rotate, soaking in the heat, slowly cooking before his wife and sister's eyes. He smiled at them, catching a faint gleam of fluid dripping from Himawari's nipples.

She was lactating, not that this surprised him.

Sarada's subjects were little more than human livestock, after all, cows and studs tasked to breed and be slaughtered. Under her reign, every girl was expected to start having babies as soon as they began to menstruate, and every boy was charged to sow his oats as soon as their balls dropped, to keep the girls calving for as long humanly possible.

Women were producing milk constantly as a result, and girls like Hima and their mom were privileged to serve as human dairy factories.

Boruto clenched his teeth, feeling aroused as he thought about this, biting into the spit with a weak, husky groan. His dick twitched as it was yet again presented to the flames below, and his ragged asshole anxiously squeezed the thick, rough rod. He felt his stomach lurch, and a shiver ran up his spine. His body shuddered and bucked on the spit, Boruto feeling like he was about to gag but finding no energy to care.

Vision blurred, and flesh burned, seared from within and without by a scorching, euphoric heat.

Boruto came.

His semen shot into the fire, where it landed amidst the coals, immediately bubbling and spewing a musky, pungent steam. He moaned pathetically, blissfully, and met his wife's eyes feeling weaker and closer to the hereafter than ever.

Sarada smirked and licked her lips. She took a long, deep whiff.

"Mm-mm," she hummed appreciatively. "Damn, that smells GOOD. Lucky thing I had enough forethought to harvest plenty of your 'sauce' last night, eh dear? We should have more than enough to drown your meat in your own cum."

She winked, and Boruto furiously blushed. His cock was still fully erect. Eyesight blurred a moment longer as hot, savory tears trickled down his cheeks.

Weakly, feeling his strength and consciousness gradually slipping away, Boruto stuck out his tongue and lewdly laved it over the scorching, rigid shaft that ran him through like the lowly piece of meat he had always longed to be. It hurt his tongue, the wood burning hot to the touch, yet he felt a delightful thrill in doing this.

A moan escaped darkly browned lips as his eyes rolled up in their sockets.

Mustering the last vestiges of will and energy lingering within his person, Boruto made a show of licking the spit so as to entertain his wife and sister in his final moments. He moved his head back and forth with half-cooked muscles, mind swimming in steam and desire, and mimed sucking cock as he cooked.

Browning skin gleamed with sweat and delicious juices. Boruto shivered and wheezed, lungs no doubt burning and filled with smoke, a long and thick cock standing rigid, delectably erect with bulging veins and a meaty head.

Sarada smiled and thrust a pair of fingers up her cunt, touching herself and masturbating, watching intently with her sharingan as Boruto's movements slowed, his breathing growing shallower. Gasping and shivering, she committed the sight before her eyes to memory, planning to savor the moment even after it was over.

Gazing intently, she watched her husband die.

Now he truly was just a hunk of delicious meat.


End file.
